1635:The Dreeson Incident

Chapter 37

Frankfurt am Main

"I really think he means it," Ouvrard said.

Locquifier had just read Ducos' repeated order to assassinate Gustavus Adolphus, Princess Kristina, Michael Stearns, Rebecca and Wilhelm Wettin-all on the same day, in the same place, and as soon as possible after the election.

Ducos' orders were accompanied by a long disquisition from Delerue explaining precisely how they were to do this in such a way that the derailment of the smooth transition of political power after the election would, without question, be blamed on Richelieu. And an explanation of why the word derailment was now acceptable French.

"What does he intend to do?" Brillard asked. "Submit it to the Academie francaise once it is founded next month? If indeed, it is founded on schedule, so to speak, on the twenty-second day of February in the year of our Lord one thousand sixteen hundred thirty-five?"

Delerue had bored the remainder greatly with his enthusiasm about this epochal cultural development.

"To get their approval to place it in a dictionary?" Ouvrard grimaced. "One would hope he has the prudence to maintain silence in Michel's presence-keeping in mind that Richelieu founded it."

"Let me think about this," Locquifier said.

Locquifier sat there for a long time, his forehead resting on his hands.

Michel must be mad. At the very least, isolated in Scotland, he must have no idea exactly what challenges the men in Frankfurt were facing. It would be hopeless, utterly hopeless, to try to organize those five assassinations.

For one thing, he had developed his own plan. One that was in his grasp. One that did not overreach. In his own mind, he had already allotted Mathurin Brillard to a specific project.

Brillard was the only really good marksman in the group. Something that Michel tended to forget. Something that Antoine Delerue frequently forgot. Or, at least, frequently ignored when the realities of life started to impinge upon his abstract and theoretical convictions.

"Budget," Ancelin suggested.

"Unfortunately, budget is not really a problem. Sandrart may have removed Milkau from our clutches, but we are squeezing enough other members of the Calvinist diaspora hard enough that we can't lament that we are poorly funded. Not, at least, with any pretense of plausibility."

"Personnel, then?"

"Better." Locquifier scratched his head. "We must reiterate, I think. Since Michel has reiterated his orders, we must repeat our reply. With just enough variance from the last time that he knows we did in fact read his letter. So, we tell him what? That we will stick with what we have already decided-namely to act against the Grantville synagogue, with the hospital as a cover for this."

"Ah. Publicity. Explain how useful the dual approach will be. If rumors surface, if Nasi gets wind of the project, etc., the focus of the opposition's attention can be 'blipped' either way as they say on the radio. Just a few well-chosen pamphlets, rapidly produced on our faithful duplicating machine."

"It is rarely a life-enhancing experience to tell Michel that a person cannot do what he wants. He won't be happy with demonstrations only, I suspect." Deneau crossed his arms over his chest.

"Pamphlets," Locquifier said with sudden inspiration. "More pamphlets, apparently from many different sources, repeating a variety of rumors that Richelieu is planning to have those five persons assassinated. Just rumors will have a greatly unsettling impact. Anger the Swede. Occupy the time and attention of the spymaster Nasi. Why, rumors will do almost as much good as actually trying to do it."

"Are you certain that Michel will see things that way?"

"Not certain, no. But it's better than nothing. Ah, actually.. ." He hesitated. Should he explain this? Or not? Probably better to explain it.

"I was rather intending not to inform Michel that we are producing the pamphlets about the rumors ourselves. Rather hoping that we could just send selected pamphlets to him, as they appear. We can put on false places of publication, of course-everyone does. Distribute them through the same network that Weitz's contacts use. I was… rather hoping that Michel and Antoine are so far away that they will never find out that we aren't actually working very hard to carry out his instructions."

" Merde!" Ancelin exclaimed. "Guillaume, that's… damned brilliant."

The others agreed.

"So," Ancelin said. "Is there anything else we can do to give Michel the right impression?"

"Analysis of alternate possibilities," Ouvrard suggested. "That usually works well in causing a discussion to veer off course. Send Michel a listing of every 'soft underbelly' in the USE that we can think of."

"Why limit it to the USE?" Deneau asked.

"Because that's where we are?" was Ancelin's practical answer.

"We're creating smoke and mirrors anyway," Ouvrard pointed out. "So, we say: The USE is worried, so security is tight and the targets are hard. But-let's think. Princess Kristina is unreachable, but what about the Danish prince to whom she is now betrothed? Or the up-time lady-in-waiting to whom she is said to be so attached? That one's betrothed, the ridiculous Imperial Count of Narnia? If we can't reach Gustavus, then what about his queen in Stockholm? If not Stearns, then his ally Piazza? Ableidinger? If not the Abrabanel woman, then her father? If not Wettin, then one of his brothers? The possibilities are endless."

"Don't become too fond of your brainstorming, Robert. If we list too many options, he will realize that we are just creating excuses." Locquifier paused. "Choose three of these possibilities you have suggested and write up an analysis of each. As if we were seriously offering them for his consideration."

"It's a pity to abandon the rest."

"Then just give them a passing mention at the end, as if you were blowing them off as unrealistic and unlikely."

"In fact, Mathurin, nothing will placate Michel and Antoine but an assassination. Not in the long run, though this ploy will probably work for the time being." Locquifier looked up. "Hold yourself ready. As the time draws nearer, I will provide you with a target. Only one, since I am a reasonable man. Under cover of the demonstrations."

Brillard nodded.

Soubise picked up his wine and looked at the latest letter from his brother Henri again. Meditatively. Besancon. An interesting choice. He had rather anticipated that he would be off to Geneva for negotiations with the good Calvinist city fathers. But… Henri de Rohan and Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar were old friends, of course.

Richelieu would not be pleased at all. This move would also make it somewhat more difficult for Henri to present his continuing protestations that he was unquestionably a loyal subject of Louis XIII in a plausible manner. A lot more difficult, even, considering that the cardinal had not approved a change of venue. Important men could not just wander around the map of Europe without the permission of their monarchs. Not even if the council of the Most Serene Republic of Venice had finally decided not to renew a particular man's contract with its army, which meant that, as an exile, most of his estates confiscated by the French monarchy, Henri was once more looking for a job.

And would love to get back into the field. A general could only write so many books before the activity palled.

Not that Soubise wouldn't like to be commanding a few ships again, himself. Or many ships.

Garrison commander in Geneva would have been good, Soubise thought. Not that Henri had asked him. His older brother was well into his fifties, not as young as he used to be. A comfortable municipal post from which he could face down the dukes of Savoy would have been-not bad, in Soubise's humble opinion. Which it was now too late to express.

He opened the second letter in the stack.

Cavriani's son was off to Naples. Leopold himself had discovered that he had urgent business matters in Strassburg.

Very few really urgent business matters, Soubise thought, involved conferring with history professors. Not that Matthias Bernegger at the University of Strassburg didn't have an interesting network of his own, but it rarely involved exalted financial transactions.

After Strassburg, Leopold anticipated that he would be passing through Freiburg im Breisgau. Then Basel. One might almost think that he had seen enough of Basel when he was there with the Austrian archduchess, but perhaps not. Basel, Buxtorf, and Wettstein. Then back to Strassburg. Then… Besancon.

Oh.

No particular reason for Henri to go to Geneva right now, if Cavriani wasn't there.

But. As a response to Henri's ploy, Richelieu would certainly start making life more difficult for the duchess and for Anne. For the girl-his niece Marguerite.

If Rohan was to continue as Rohan, they could not let Henri's daughter be forced into marriage with any Catholic peer.

Roi, je ne puis,

Duc, je ne daigne,

Rohan je suis.

No, they lacked the lineage to be kings. But they must remain themselves. "I am Rohan."

What they needed for Marguerite, as a husband for the Rohan family's only heiress, was, obviously, a Protestant.

Soubise frowned. He was not sure that Henri was wise to be considering a match with Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar so seriously. If the lineage was to continue, they shouldn't choose a man who would absorb Rohan into his own career and use its assets to further his own ambitions. They needed a man who would become Rohan for her. With her.

Soubise prayed that Marguerite would mature to have the same spirit as her grandmother, Catherine de Parthenay-Larcheveque, who had written to Henri from La Rochelle during the great siege, insisting that they must achieve "secure peace, complete victory, or honorable death." The old motto of Jeanne d'Albret, Henri IV's mother-never to be forgotten by the Huguenots.

Not if they hoped to survive in this world, at least.

Not for nothing did the Rohan descend from Isabelle d'Albret, aunt of that very queen of Navarre.

Grantville

Noelle threw the newspaper on the table.

"Would you like me to say 'damn' for you?" Eddie Junker inquired politely.

"I am so sick of how the Crown Loyalists are insulting Ed Piazza because of Barclay and that bunch." She looked across the table. "And you, too, Mr. Jenkins. I'm sorry about the whole thing. If we only could have stopped them."

Chad Jenkins put his toast down. "At least they aren't using it much in the campaign on the national level."

"I suppose that's better than nothing. But it still isn't what anyone could call good." She looked at her uncle. Who was married to the sister of Chad Jenkins' wife. She was still sorting out all the dozens of new relatives and relatives-by-marriage she had acquired when she officially became a Stull instead of a Murphy. Consanguinity and affinity, the church called it. "What do you think, Joe?"

She still hadn't managed to talk herself into calling any of them "aunt" or "uncle." Not when she called her father by his first name.

"You should have shot the Hungarian when you had the chance. Or at least shot into the barge instead of into the river. With any luck, it would have sunk in the Danube, right there at Regensburg. The garrison could have fished them out and sent them home, we could have tried them the same way we did Bolender's bunch, and we'd be done with it by now."

His wife Aura Lee looked at him, reproachfully. "Don't be mean to Noelle."

"It would have taken really a lot of luck," Eddie pointed out. "Considering Noelle's marksmanship. She was lucky to hit the river."

Chad Jenkins laughed. "No point in crying about spilled milk. Duke Albrecht and Kay Kelly are going to make the most of it in the campaign, and that's all there is to it." He leaned back. "I hear she's actually gotten Gustavus to order delivery of ten of those 'Dauntless' planes, just as fast as Bob can build them."

Joe, who was also the SoTF Secretary of Transportation, was on solid ground, now. He leaned back and began to summarize resources, warehouse space, how far the various companies that were starting to manufacture aviation engines had gotten, delivery schedules for parts and components, availability of skilled personnel, and testing procedures.

It didn't seem like Gustavus was likely to get those planes any time soon. He should thank his lucky stars if he got a couple of them in time for next spring's campaign.

"I don't think that Mom's really designed to hit the campaign trail," Missy told Ron. "Honestly, she hates it. She tries to hide it, but she just hates it."

"Well, your dad keeps her out of it, as much as he can," Ron said. "And you've got to admit that Willie Ray is in his glory. Your grandfather's having a wonderful time."

"Oh, yeah." Missy giggled. "Just like the old days, back when he was in the state legislature. He's having a ball."

"He and Dreeson make quite a pair."